


it's called: freefall

by Ejunkiet



Series: love like ghosts (kastle collection) [3]
Category: Daredevil (TV), The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: Bittersweet endings and new beginnings, F/M, Interlude, Light Angst, Post-Season/Series 01, Pre-Season/Series 03
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-11
Updated: 2019-01-11
Packaged: 2019-10-08 10:05:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17384450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ejunkiet/pseuds/Ejunkiet
Summary: Frank calls her late in the afternoon the day before he leaves the city.--Missing scene between the Punisher season 1 and Daredevil season 3.





	it's called: freefall

**Author's Note:**

> I'll never get over what these two could have been. Title comes from the RKS song.

Frank calls her late in the afternoon the day before he leaves the city.

It's Pete that arrives on her doorstep just over twenty minutes later, a duffle in one hand and a crumpled paper bag in the other, cheeks flushed from the first chill of fall. He brings in with him the scent of flour and yeast from the bakery around the corner and as he places the bag on the counter, she catches sight of bagels and a carafe of coffee.

“Trying to bribe me with breakfast, Frank?”

A crooked smile plays across his lips and he gives her a sidelong glance as she grabs a few mugs from a cabinet and joins him at the kitchen island. “Something like that.”

He pulls up a stool as she reaches for the bag and grabs the coffee, his shoulders sloping down, the stiff line of him relaxing as she fills their mugs to the brim. He waits until she's settled, curled on a stool beside him, before he reaches down to the duffle, tugging open a side pocket to grab a burner phone. She doesn't need to turn it on to know that there's only one number programmed into it. After a moment's hesitation, he places it on the counter between them.

It doesn't take much to put the pieces together.

“You're leaving the city.”

His reply is low and gruff, and he doesn't quite meet her eye as he says it. “Yeah.”

She watches the steam rise from her mug, breathes it in, the dark notes of the Italian roast, the slight hint of sweetness from the hazelnut. This is something that she knew was coming, and so she pastes a smile on her face when she meets his gaze, holds it steady.

“That's good. I’m - glad.”

She's happy for him. She really is - this is a good move for him, away from the reminders of his past. Away from Russo, the spectre of his murderous rampage through the city in search of revenge, the lingering memories of his family.

She's happy for him, and that's why she won't ask him to stay.

_(Bullshit, Frank; we're all lonely. Sometimes I think that that is all that life is. We’re just fighting not to be alone.)_

_(- but I want there to be an after, for you.)_

Frank doesn't say anything, just watches her, his expression unreadable. He's clean-shaven, dressed in flannel, something she never expected to see on him and he looks like a new man. He looks like Pete, and something swells in her chest, filling up the space between her ribs, crowding her lungs and she swallows hard, willing away the heat she can feel rising in her cheeks.

She breaks away first, glancing back at her mug, rubbing her thumbs against the white pull of her knuckles. There's nothing more to say.

“Karen.”

His hand settles on her shoulder, tentative and warm, and she hears the scrape of the metal stool against the tile floor as he moves in closer. His breath smells like coffee as he ducks his head and tries to catch her gaze.

“I-”

“It's okay, Frank.” Her throat feels thick, and she laughs, glancing away. After a moment, she pushes back from the counter, leaving behind her mug, and he lets his hand fall.

She can feel his eyes on her as she crosses to the otherside of the kitchen, and when she turns, she sees that he's got to his feet, his hand still gripped around the mug.

He opens his mouth to speak again, and she shakes her head, wishes he wouldn't - she doesn't need an explanation - she understands. She does.

_(She's left the past behind her, before-)_

He hesitates a moment longer, before placing his mug down on the counter, the ceramic clinking against the stone with something that feels like finality.

Facing the door, he says instead, “I'll be seeing you.”

Reaching down, he shoulders the bag and makes his way towards the hall and she doesn't stop him, doesn't say anything, just watches him as he unlatches the safety chain. He pauses before opening the door, palm against the chipped paint of the wood, fingers drumming against the frame until he turns and catches her gaze.

“Stay safe, Page.”

He reaches for the handle, and she watches, her limbs buzzing with energy until it’s almost too late, and she - she can't let it end without saying something, anything.

“Frank - wait.”

He does. His frame fills the entryway, silhouetted by the yellow cast of the lights in the hall. His eyes are darker than she's ever seen them as he meets her gaze, and she chews on her cheek, her nails biting into her arm.

“If you need help, or - anything, call. I'll be here.”

He nods, and for the first time since he entered her apartment, he smiles. It's a small, tentative thing, but it's real. “Sure thing.”

He leaves then, and she takes in a long breath, tastes the Italian roast and the lingering aftertaste of metal-gun-smoke that follows him, and lets it go.


End file.
